[Hook: Bilal]You're in my heart, you're in my mindYou're the star that will always shineForever you'll be with me.

[Verse 1: Lupe Fiasco]Uh, it go likeYou ever see the inner depths of a man's soul?Or ninja turtles pouring out of manholesThis is balanceBetween a comic and a conscious, that's the challengeBetween the solitary and the conference that I examinesThat I imagine was a figureWould be the start of world peace and the transformation of niggasLike the transubstantiation of liquorBut that's just turnin' them into bloodAnd we'll be right back where we wasNot a peace-sign, but a fascination with scissorsSo I can cutMyself off from the calculations of empress, empires, and the sinnersFor advancement of human sufferingAnd other things trying to impede my publishing and editorialsThat's gon' bring it back to us againA boomerang might as Halle Berry and Eddie and everybody fuckin' it

[Hook: Bilal]

[Verse 2: Lupe Fiasco]Shotgun,Even though independent cars ain't got oneI got some and more to spareNo more despairMy motor-ware don't match my motivateAlso I drive to stay alive and ride this over thereMy momma so mad, so no alcohol in hereI'm Aries Spears on my Jay-Z shitAffion on the Drake skitNow how many more can I make with just one voiceThey might call it fake shitThis some deep shit, it's my meAnd my impersonatin' we shitVicariously in every rap I speak withI hope you're speakin' for me, if I'm ever speechlessCause I'mma be youEven though you're not here to be withI hope I see these gangsters actin' like teachersWake up out they sleep, then they dreamAnd the world so Martin Luther King-less

[Hook: Bilal]

[Outro: Lupe Fiasco]And to my hero Heron, Gil ScottIn a discourse with BaldwinOn a jet plane with no fear for fallin'But wishin' it never landsReminiscent of the dream timePresently en route to the rhymes of the machine timeMagazine timesWith coffee more sugar and milk than coffee? rhymes, rotten beats, and failed hooksRoads as bumpy as braille booksFail cools, bad French, and mad push at the doorGourmet food at the starving soireeA choice of one easy woman at a timeI'll take three the hard wayTrying to be as abstract as possibleAnd vulgar, the more shocking the more profitableA baby fed molten goldAnd sat upon a pedestal promote getting called 24 carot soulsHow to describe thisInsightful remarks such as the best thing I've ever heard is silenceSome more technically impressiveIn a faux spanish romantic ?Please listen to the critics, pointless is the common passerbyMight as well not even exist, not even a bitIn the event of my demise give everything I prize to the poorAnd the oppressors, I leave a warAnd so on and so forth